


Something About Us

by klowntatorship



Series: Cyberpunk fics [12]
Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Cheating, Dirty Talk, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, M/M, Oral Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Rough Sex, Soulmates, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:07:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29694090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klowntatorship/pseuds/klowntatorship
Summary: Night City, 2011. Somehow V has managed to steer clear of Silverhand, that is till Johnny has a job for the merc. It’s stupid; V knows better than to work one on one with a client rather than through a fixer, yet there’s something about Johnny that he can’t shake.
Relationships: Alt Cunningham/Johnny Silverhand, Johnny Silverhand/V
Series: Cyberpunk fics [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2057706
Comments: 12
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Content is marked as E for later chapters, I'll also update the tag list as I go. 
> 
> Thanks for reading😌

The walls of The Atlantis tremble with the bass that booms around him. The distorted vocals grating against his eardrums and the harsh cacophony of the transgressive music even more so. It’s some song he’s heard a thousand times here but can never remember the name of it. V takes a sip of his drink, the liquor burning his throat as it goes down. His eyes focus off in the distance as the taste of whiskey settles on his tongue. It was his night off, and he didn’t intend on doing anything besides enjoys a few stiff drinks and maybe killing a few brain cells in the process. 

“Hey, kid,” He hardly registers Rogue’s voice as she settled onto the barstool beside him, and he had half a mind just to ignore her. They had been friends long enough for V to be able to recognize that tone. He knew that whatever was going to leave her mouth went against how he wanted to spend his night. 

“Not tonight.” V chuckles with a shake of his head as he knocks back the rest of his drink. “My night off; not taking any gigs _ or  _ talking biz. So unless you’re buyin’ me a drink, fuck off.” 

Rogue laughs softly, raising her hand to signal the bartender and ordered the two another round. “Not here to talk business.” Her lips spread into a guilty smile, and he isn’t shocked when the next words leave her mouth. “Just want to know if I can pass your number off to someone for business.”

He supposes he could appreciate the courtesy of her  _ asking  _ first. Which if V was honest, that itself did pique his interest in the matter. It had to be something serious if she was asking first. He preferred to work with fixers; taking jobs on the fly was more often than not bad news. It tended to be more lucrative, but the cost wasn’t always worth it. V knew this, and Rogue knew this. Any solo worth their salt knew this. 

The bartender sets down two drinks for them. They both murmur their thanks before turning to face one another. This time, Rogue had V’s attention. Hearing her out wasn’t the same as taking a gig.

“Who?” He asks with a quirked brow. 

“Johnny Silverhand.” There’s a tinge of bitterness to the name she speaks, and V can’t help but laugh at that. There was history between the two, a volatile one at that. He had never actually met the man, which was quite impressive that the two’s paths had yet to cross. Maybe for the better from the stories he’d heard from Kerry and Rogue. None of which painted the best picture of him. 

He was a narcissistic two-timing son of a bitch from what he gathered between the two, among a slew of other expletives. But he was charismatic and handsome on top of that, a nasty combo that continued to suck you in like the hit of the cleanest drug that you just couldn’t quit. Otherwise, the two would’ve kicked his ass to the curb by now, or at least  _ they should have _ .

V had spent enough nights with Rogue after particularly bad fights with Johnny to know that much. He wasn’t sure of all the specifics that went into their relationship; Rogue was private didn’t like eyes peering into her life and being the center of attention, unlike her sort of counterpart. She was careful with what she revealed about herself, letting you see only what she wanted you to see. It was rare for her to allow her carefully crafted walls to part for someone to enter. Even to V and he liked to think the two were close. But that was just the nature of the biz; it was easier to remain closed off in case you had to put lead between your best chooms eyes.

V raises the glass before him, smirking behind the rim before he takes a sip of the clear fizzy liquid. “What? You aren’t going to do it? You two in another fight?” 

“Something like that.” Rogue gives him a stern look, a silent warning as brows pull together. She lifts her glass, swirls the liquid as she ponders whether tonight was one of those nights that she would let V in. Instead, she knocks back the vodka soda in two gulps before slamming the glass down on the countertop. “Don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Alright.” V nods his head as they settle into silence. The bar’s music quickly filling the space between them as the bartender set down another round of drinks for them. Knew them well enough to know that two drinks were nothing for them and to just keep them coming till they said otherwise. He loved that about The Atlantis: it was like a second home to him. He always knew he could come here, kick back, and relax between gigs. “What am I getting myself into?”

“Didn’t go into specifics, just asked if I knew someone good but knowing him?” Rogue gives him a sideways look, lips spreading into a smirk. There’s a glint in her eyes, a knowing look that came with being sucked into the volatile atmosphere of Silverhand. “Nothing good, I can promise you that.” 

V snorts. Sounded about right for a job that wasn’t done through a fixer. Even if Johnny didn’t want to admit it, wanted to rebel against the status quo and challenge the system, he was just as predictable as everyone else. He lets out a sigh, turning his gaze down to his painted nails for a moment before looking up at Rogue again. “Sure.”

It really was only a matter of time before the two came in contact with each other. V might as well do it when he stood to gain some eddies. And if it really was a job that stunk up to the high heavens, he could always tell Johnny to go fuck himself. Unlike Rogue and Kerry, he wasn’t tangled up in the sticky silk of his webs. 

“I’ll let him know.” Rogue nods her head, almost looking relieved. Maybe because she wasn’t the one to be taking on whatever the job was. V didn’t bother asking; he knew that he wouldn’t get a straight answer either way. She flashes him another smile, running a hand through her peacock blue deathawk “Tomorrow.”

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Since that night at The Atlantis, he had spoken with Johnny briefly. The conversation had frankly been a waste of time. V had gotten as much out of it as he had from Rogue. Which was to be expected and was the exact fuckin’ reason V hated working with clients one on one. It didn’t matter who they were or who they thought they were; they always made V run in circles to figure out what they wanted and how to make it bloom into fruition. Still, there was a silver lining to it. Johnny’s voice was pleasant to listen to, voice raspy from cigarettes and cheap liquor. It was the kind of voice one could get lost in, which he already knew from having heard Samurai tracks from Kerry, though the shitty low quality demos that were sent his way never really did Johnny justice. 

The brief conversation could be surmised to ‘playing a gig tomorrow night at The Slammer. Come by and we can talk biz after.’ Which that itself wasn’t an awful idea. He had promised Kerry that he’d come to a show for some time now. Two birds, one stone. If the job was some half baked crock of shit, he was still at least able to please Kerry. 

V had spent his day puttering around his apartment as he waited for time to pass before the show. There was no point in picking up a quick gig to fill the hours between, not wanting to accidentally end up double booked. And the other night, he had just been complaining about never getting any time off in this city, so it was an excellent excuse to lazily watch some TV with Nibbles purring away on his lap. 

When the time came close enough that he could get ready, he threw on an old ratty tank top, the logo having faded considerably since he had acquired it. Not to mention the holes that had accumulated in it, which begged the question if it even counted as a shirt anymore. Still, despite its haggard appearance, it was one of his favorite shirts to wear. Next came a worn pair of black jeans and his calf high combat boots. The Boots were always a hassle to lace up, now being no exception to that. He casts a final look at himself in the mirror, the contrasting light and dark of his heterochromatic eyes staring back at himself as he fusses with the blue fauxhawk that doesn’t seem to want to stay up. Finally, he gives up and steps out of the cramped bathroom.

He makes sure to fill up Nibble’s food bowl just before he left, praying that the 22 NCTC would be on time for once. It was wishful thinking, Night City’s transit system wasn’t exactly known for its prompt punctuality, but a man could dream.

* * *

* * *

The Slammer was tightly packed, almost nauseatingly so. V could feel the slick skin of men much burlier than himself slide against him, feel the pounding of the drums in his chest, the beat of the music replacing that of his heartbeat. As nauseating and overwhelming as it was, it was also exhilarating. The cries filled the room, deafened by the abrasive music that thundered through the speakers overhead. V couldn’t help but let himself get swept up in the hype of the crowd, to feel that swell of excitement in his chest like a balloon being blown up much too fast. It was like a continuous current of energy was flowing through him, and when he felt a body slam into him, he couldn’t help but grin and return the motion. His body bouncing around in the pit, slamming into others with a thud, and being slammed into. 

It was different from his work; this wasn’t lethal. More akin to a boxing match than it was that of a merc, even then, the intent at this moment wasn’t to cause bodily harm and subdue the offender. It was a sort of mutual carnage with a level of understanding and care that went into it. He felt safer here than when he was perched behind a barricade with his sniper pointed at some gonk’s head. Knew that even when he took a blow to the skull and felt his brain rattle, he wasn’t in any real danger. Not when the same man who knocked him to the ground wrapped an arm around his shoulder and belted out lyrics of Chipin’ In at the top of his lungs with a look of unadulterated glee on his face. 

But he doesn’t let his guard down, keeps it up as much as he can in his state of inebriation. Just because he wasn’t in any immediate danger didn’t mean that nothing would arise. The venue was filled with a mixture of people that V usually would be wary of. But Suds had somehow gotten pretty good at keeping the bubblings of gang violence from blowing over. How he managed that? V hadn’t the slightest idea, but he respected the guy for it.

He’s plenty drunk by the time the show ends, the fabric of his tank clinging to his chest with sweat. The world around him swims, the neon lights overhead casting shadows and distorting people’s faces as he weaves his way backstage. Getting back there is no problem, not when you’re chooms with one of the band members. Even if he wasn’t, he was no stranger in getting into places that he wasn’t welcome.

V wanders the back halls of the venue, lets his fingertips trail along the paint-chipped walls to help retain some of his balance as the world around him passes by in a colorful blur. He follows the sound of loud chatter and the clinking of bottles until he arrives at the end of the hallway facing a cracked open door. He pushes it open, and eyes shift their attention to him momentarily before returning to whatever it was they were doing previously. 

“V!” Kerry jumps to his feet, swaying for a moment before bounding over to the merc and enveloping him in a hug. Kerry was never one to shy away from affection, something V enjoyed from the man. “Glad you could make it.” He beams at him. “Course it only took Johnny to get you here.”

“You know how it goes Ker, don’t exactly get time off in NC.” V shrugs his shoulders at that, unable to stop the guilt that slowly saturates his mind. He knows damn well he could’ve made time for Kerry, and he should have made time for the guy. The merc was something of a workaholic, always on the go bouncing from one job to another to keep his name relevant and the eddies steady. Not to mention that his old downtown apartment rent was disgustingly priced. He needed to work that much to even afford the place.

“Yeah yeah, still a fucking gonk.” Kerry shoves his shoulder softly before leading V to the couch, where he slumps down unceremoniously, patting the spot next to him. 

When V settles into the spot next to the man, his eyes shift around the room, taking in the surroundings. Ordinarily, it was the first thing he did without much of a second thought. Always looking and scheming for an escape plan should things go awry. But alcohol still slugged through his veins, clouding his thoughts.

The room was littered with bottles, varying in how much was in them, smoke billowing up to the ceiling. There were a few groupies huddled together through the room, drinking the cheap watered down beer the venue served as they chattered quietly. It was poorly lit too, some of the lights overhead flickering, and others burnt out entirely. It wasn’t the worst venue he had been to by a long shot, but nice certainly wasn’t the word to best describe this place.

“So you’re V then,” He turns his head towards the direction of the gruff voice, the one that he had heard on the phone the other day. He can feel eyes bore into him from behind mirrored glasses. Even if he can’t see the eyes of the other clearly, he can feel the intensity of his gaze. It felt like he was being picked apart by sight alone. Johnny’s hair is an unkempt, wild mane from the show he had just played. A cigarette dangles from one hand resting on his knee, the other wrapped around a pretty blonde. The woman, in comparison to Johnny and, well, really everyone else in the room, looked much more put together. Flowing blonde locks brushing over her shoulders, her green and blue eyes sharp and calculating, and an air of  _ don’t fuck with me _ cascading off of her. “What kind of fuckin’ name is V anyways? Stand for something?”

“What kind of name is  _ Silverhand _ ?” V quips, the corners of his lips curling up as he shoots the man a playful glare. 

He hears Kerry snort beside him, muttering his agreement with V’s statement. Even Johnny was unable to stop the chuckle that rumbled through his chest. “Touché.”

“‘M not here to become fuckin’ chooms with you, so let’s talk biz,” V says, voice shifting from that playful lilt to one that was more serious. Though the gentle slurring of his words didn’t help in maintaining any sort of professionalism. “What’s so big you couldn’t go through a fixer?”

“Don’t like working with them, never know when one of them will sell you out for a bigger wad of scratch.” Johnny explains, lifting his cigarette to take a long drag off of it. V supposes that did make sense. However, in a place like Night City that was in an epidemic of crime, you could get away with most things. So long as you were careful, that is. What was so special about this that Johnny felt the need to hide it from the prying eyes of a fixer?

“And what makes you think I won’t?” V asks because, really, Johnny didn’t know V aside from whatever Kerry and Rogue had shared with him. This was the first time they had fuckin’ met, and there wasn’t any rapport between them to justify that statement. Sure he wouldn’t because he had built up a name for himself as reliable, but still. It was a dumb assumption to make.

“You won’t,” Johnny says confidently with a nod of his head. He leans forward, snubbing the butt of the cigarette out into the already too full ashtray before he gets to his feet. “Come on, let’s talk in private.”

V shoots a bit of a look between Alt and Kerry. They’re seemingly unphased by Johnny’s cryptic antics. So he decides fuck it and gets to his feet. He might as well see this through. They exit the green room together, Johnny grabbing a half-full bottle of tequila before leaving and making their way down the hall towards another green room. This one empty.

It was still grimy, walls littered in graffiti and stains that he isn’t sure anyone has even tried to clean. But it wasn’t littered in bottles of liquor like the other room. It still smelt of stale smoke and too much hair spray, though that was probably a permanent thing at this point. V closes the door behind them before following Johnny and taking a seat on the loveseat in the back of the room.

“Guy from Arsaka, comin’ in next month.” Johnny begins, flicking the cap off the bottle. It clatters to the ground, the noise echoing around them. He takes a swig from it, droplets of amber dribbling down the corner of his mouth only to be caught in his facial hair. He wipes his mouth with the back of his ‘ganic hand before passing the bottle to V.

“You need some intel on him?” V raises a brow, accepting the bottle and taking his own sip before continuing, “Tryna kelp something?”

“Want a bullet in his head.” The words are unfeeling as if he was talking about doing laundry. And if he didn’t know about Johnny and his relationship with Arasaka, he would’ve looked at the man like he grew two heads. Sure, people hated corps, but they weren’t usually willing to go so far as to flatline one. Specifically not someone coming in internationally, Night City residents were fair game, having already gotten tangled in the webs of the concrete neon jungle.

“Shit Johnny,” V lets out an exhale, takes another sip because he knows he’s going to need it if he’s going to seriously consider this job. Or maybe he needs to sober up because he’s already drunk and inclined to make a stupid decision. “Guess I can see why you aren’t going through a fixer for that one,” he says more to himself than anything. “You got a plan or are you gunna make me do that? Cost you fuckin’ extra if that’s the case.”

“Got his itinerary, schematics of the place he’s staying at and when we’re going to catch him alone,” Johnny explains, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the top of his knees. He stares at his hands for a moment as if mulling over the plan in his head before he turns his head slightly to stare at V. “Just need someone who’s good with their lead to come with. Not fucked enough to think I can pull this off on my own.”

“What’s this for? This some promo for your next album or something?” He’s half serious when he asks this because it feels like something Johnny would come up with.

Johnny laughs sharply, shakes his head before leaning back against the couch. The leather creaks under his weight in protest.

“A message. You see what they’re fuckin’ doing out there V,” Johnny begins, his hands clench against the caps of his knees, knuckles turning white under his grip. “It’s gentrification and it won’t stop, corpo scum are just a bunch of gluttonous pigs.” He spits the words, vitriol dripping from each syllable. “I’ve watched them suck lands dry to line their pockets and strip people down till they’re nothing but a husk. And they won’t fuckin’ stop unless people start fighting back.”

They sit in silence for a few moments as V processes what Johnny says. He can feel the red hot anger that cascades off the man in heavy waves, the intensity Johnny has is almost suffocating. Of course, he knew that Silverhand hated corporations, that fact was practically common knowledge at this point, but it was different to hear it in person. It was much harder to roll his eyes and think of the man as a raving lunatic.

V had seen what he described, saw it all around them. The United States was in shambles at best. Anything that wasn’t under the thumb of corporations was teetering on the line of decrepit, barely hanging by a thread and left behind like a lost cause. If it didn’t make them money, they were happy to let it fall apart. Only then would they sweep in, reclaiming and rezoning it into a corporate area and painting themselves as heroes for saving what they had previously neglected.

Hell, the very city was founded by a man who had his hand in those corporations. Of course, that didn’t exactly end well for him, fucking with corps rarely does. It left war to rage in the city, building its reputation for being the violent unforgiving place it was known to be. The corpos had only begun to step in when it aligned with their agenda when the violence had started to tarnish what they wished to achieve. It wasn’t about making the city better or safer. It was about achieving their goals—business as usual.

“Okay.” V finally says, nodding his head, “Let’s do this.”

“Great, knew I could count on you V.” Johnny shoots him a bit of a smirk, but V can still see the anger that simmers behind it. It was momentary contentment brought on by V’s agreement to help, only having been moved to the back burning of his mind.

“Don’t be an idiot,” V chuckles, taking another sip of the tequila. “You’re just stuck with me because you pissed off Rogue again.”

“Well, there’s that too.” He laughs, grabbing the bottle from V.


	3. Chapter 3

Alt had been kind enough to offer him a ride back, citing the buses weren’t running at this hour and that V was way too drunk to get back to his apartment. Maybe also in part due to the merc foolishly accepting her deranged boyfriend’s gig. After Johnny and he had spoken about the job, of course, it had led to more drinking (among other things.) And Alt had a point; he really had no business walking through the city in this state. Doing so was asking for someone to come up and flatline him. He would’ve been an easy enough target. One firm shove to his shoulder, and he likely would’ve toppled over into a pile of garbage like he was some teenager who couldn’t handle their substances. 

“I’m glad you’re taking this gig and not Rogue.” Alt says, fingers drumming along the steering wheel. They’re stopped at a stoplight, but it’s not the glowing red that stops them from rolling forward. There’s a crime scene ahead, the luminous yellow holographic tape blocking off the street while cops and corners swarm the scene like vultures. He wonders briefly what the body lotto number was going to be come morning.

“Jealous lover?” V asks before he can stop the words tumbling from his mouth. He feels his gut tighten the moment the words leave his lips because he really shouldn’t have said that. Especially when she was going out of her way to drive him home. His cheeks heat up at that, and he turns his spinning vision to focus on anything but the woman. 

But Alt just laughs softly, maybe a little bitterly, but V tries not to read too much into it. “No, Rogue and I are fine. But I hate seeing her running around in circles with him.”

The car begins to move again as Alt starts turning onto another street. There was no point in waiting for the crime scene to clear up. Who knows how long that would take. It was faster to just take the long way to his place.

“And what about me and you? You content with us doing the same thing?” V's words slur together a bit as he speaks. He doesn’t bother looking at Alt, content to just lets his warm face press against the cool glass of the passenger window. He watches the buildings go by, finding himself thinking about Johnny’s words as he takes in the decrepit state of some of them.

“You’re fresh, not like the rest of us. Johnny is fun until he tangles you into his fallacious bullshit, doesn’t give a fuck about anything other than himself and his ideals. Best you learn that right off the bat, it’ll do you good.” This time, the bitterness rings through clear as day. He doesn’t need to be sober to pick up on that. 

“If you feel like that, why are ya still with him?” V asks as he shifts to look at her with a raised brow. Their eyes meet, and he takes note of the colors of her irises. One green and one blue. While he hadn’t seen Johnny without his sunglasses, he knew the man’s eyes weren’t mirrors of Alt’s. If they were soulmates, they would’ve shifted out of the state of heterochromia. Sure, you could love someone without being soulmates; it happened all the time, but if he was as bad of an input as everyone said he was, what was the point in sticking around? “You just settling till something better comes?”

“Nah, I love him. Don’t know why but I do.” Alt shrugs slightly, returning her eyes to the road ahead. He can’t help but feel bad for her. It wasn’t like she couldn’t get anyone she wanted. Alt was beautiful and could probably nab anyone she set her eyes on. “Sorry, didn’t mean to unload on you like that. Just tryna say don’t let yourself get caught up in his shit.”

“S’fine. You aren’t the first to go off on a fuck Johnny tirade.” V chuckles low in his throat. He’s positive it won’t be the last time either.

They fall into relative silence for the last stretch of road to V’s apartment. The only sounds being the sounds of whirring machinery and distant gunshots. The usual soundtrack for Night City at this hour, a little tame, if anything. 

“Take care V.” Alt says, smiling at him as he exits the vehicle, carefully closing the car door behind him. 

He crouches down a bit to look through the window, returning her smile. “Thanks for the ride, Alt.” he says before turning on his heel and walking off on unsteady legs.

It’s around three in the morning when he finally gets into the complex. It’s not unusual for him to stumble in at this hour, really for anyone who lived within Camden Court. The residents here all operated on weird schedules. The apartment complex was home to many solos. It was acknowledged as a somewhat respectable place for people like V. The complex had higher security, meaning that when you weren’t working gigs, you could relax without having to worry too much about waking up with lead against your skull. Or having a molotov hurled through your window. 

This was a big reason people were willing to shell out the extra eddies for this nice of a place. V had spent his time in gang riddled apartment complexes, sleeping with a gun beside him and one eye open. It wasn’t ideal, but it had been better than sleeping in the gutter, which he was also intimately acquainted with from a misspent youth. However, the arrangement he currently had was far more favorable than anything else in his life. But then anything beats waking up to the distant sounds of a Bozo honking a damn clown horn down the street.

He fumbles with the lock for a moment before finally getting the door open. He only makes it one step in before Nibbles is letting out soft little mewls, coming to weave between the space between V’s legs. The cat might have a chance at killing him before anyone else could. 

“Hey, buddy.” V murmurs, leaning down to scratch at the space behind the sphynx’s ear. Closing the door, he makes sure to flip the deadbolt on it before stripping off his clothes, tossing them onto already cluttered hardwood floors. He would have to remember to actually wash those. Even in this state, he could smell the booze and sweat that had permeated the fabric. Not to mention that his apartment’s floor was starting to be erased by the layer of dirty clothing and other clutter. Really, he just needed to spend one of these days cleaning the damn place. If he was going to pay 3,000 a month for this place, he should maintain it.

He stumbles off to the left, catching himself on the frame of the bathroom door. Maybe he had a bit too much to drink. The car ride had hardly taken the edge off. A hot shower seemed like a good idea. Both to clean the grime off his skin and to sober up a bit before he went to bed. V flicks the light on as he enters the small bathroom, and it takes a moment for his eyes to adjust and stabilize. He first turns the knob of the shower to let the water warm up before leaning back against the wall to keep his legs from buckling and him eating tile.

He stares at himself in the mirror, his eyes red and angry from the line of synth coke he had done with Kerry. It wasn’t a good look in the slightest. He looked like some hotshot gutter punk with dreams greater than the towering skyscrapers in Corpo Plaza. No wonder Alt insisted on driving him. In the bathroom’s bright lighting, his eyes seemed closer in hue, the dark brown of his left iris appearing considerably lighter. He doesn’t think much of it, chalking it up to being wasted and his optics compensating for that. V shifts tired gaze to the shower, steam beginning to rise to the ceiling filtering out of the cubicle into the rest of the room. His head’s movement leaves room for a slight delay as his Kiroshi optics fizzle unpleasantly, protesting against V’s night activities. Which was a running theme; who would’ve thought your body didn’t enjoy being tossed through the wringer on the regular. 

Carefully as not to lose his balance, he steps into the shower and scrubs himself clean from the night. Afterward, he grabs a towel from the rack on the wall, drying himself off as he makes his way to the small bedroom across the hall. V doesn’t bother putting anything on, just tosses the towel to the floor before slumping into bed at an awkward angle.


	4. Chapter 4

A few days have passed when he goes to see Johnny again. They had only briefly chatted since meeting at The Slammer, but Johnny had flicked him some encrypted deets he had mentioned in the time between. Since then, V had been working to spitball a semblance of a plan for them to work with. This was some high level shit. The last thing he wanted to do was roll up without a solid plan and get both their heads blown clean off their shoulders.

Rather than taking the NCTC to Northside, he drives. V’s car wasn’t the greatest, but it was good on gas, and that’s what mattered. Not that it being good on gas would matter for much longer, fuel was on its way out, being replaced with something more accessible and easier to mass-produce. But it was laughable to think V could afford one of the fancy CH00H2 cars they were starting to release. He’d cross that bridge only when he was forced to do so. Besides, he had been putting money in this car in upgrades; it would’ve been a waste to send it to the scrap yard so soon.

The ride to Northside is smooth, with minimal traffic. The daylight making it so abrasive neon signs and LED ads aren’t as prominent as when the city is devoid of sunlight. There were no hold ups either with MAX-TAC swooping down in their AVs to gun down some poor gonk who was having a go with cyberpsychosis. And gang activity was hidden away from the eyes of the world, not wishing to be set up on a stage of broad daylight. 

He parks his car in a side street, murmuring a silent prayer to himself that his car will be there when he returns before making his way to the front of the complex. 

For some reason, as V arrives at the Taira apartment complex, he expects it to be worse. Not that it’s the nicest place he’s been, but given the fact that Northside was riddled with gangs, it’s nicer than he thought it would be. Perhaps due to the fact this area also housed some industrial complexes and storefronts, leading the city to funnel some money into making the place appear moderately presentable. If only in appearance alone, just another meticulously crafted corporate facade.

He grips the rusted metal gate, and it lets out a loud grating squeal as he slides it open just enough for him to slip through. The place has a smell to it that makes his nose crinkle, and the fluorescent bulbs overhead that weren’t burnt out hissed softly. Still, it was far from the worst place V had seen. He makes his way up the flights of stairs to the third floor. There wasn’t a chance that he would trust that the elevator wouldn’t break down with him inside. 

V roams the hallway, eyes bouncing over the holographic number plates on each door till he found the one that reads 320. He goes to knock, getting his hand halfway to the door, when he hears a loud voice come from inside the unit.

“So were you just not gonna tell me?” It’s Kerry’s voice; he sounds miffed. More so than usual when he talks to V about whatever Johnny has done. It wasn’t unusual for Kerry to come and vent to him about the other man’s wrongdoings. For Kerry  _ and  _ Rogue. He attributed that to the fact that Johnny and V didn’t have any semblance of a relationship until a few days ago. He wonders if Kerry will tell him about this later or if he was now too close to the situation to be a good confidant. If Kerry didn’t, then he likely would never find out. It wasn’t as if V could just ask Johnny; they certainly weren’t close enough for that to be an option.

“Didn’t think you were that invested in my love life all of the sudden.” 

“I’m not but this is different Johnny, you fucking know it is.”

“No Kerry, it fuckin’ ain’t.” Johnny snaps. V hears something clatter to the ground, accompanied by the dulled noise of glass shattering. The merc knows that he shouldn’t be listening; this wasn’t a conversation meant for him. But he can’t bring himself to leave and wait for whatever this was to fizzle out. V’s feet felt like they were glued in place, breath stuck in his throat as if breathing would alert the men to his eavesdropping. “Doesn’t mean jack shit.”

“Does Alt know?” Kerry speaks cautiously, knowing that he’s toeing a dangerous line. But Kerry is seldom one to turn away from, causing a bit of havoc.

V can vividly imagine the man getting ready to dodge an empty beer bottle from even asking the question. He wonders if that’s even ever happened between them, he’s sure it has.

“Course she fucking knows! Made me sleep on the couch last night.” 

“Do you even know who it is?” This time, Kerry is brazen with his words, the reservation he held before swiftly leaving his tone.

“Could’ve been that chick with the bangin’ set of tits from the other night? Pretty sure that was love at first sight.” Johnny cackles lowly at that, but it lacks any mirth. It came off as more hostile than humorous, as if saying something like that would get Kerry to drop it. 

“Christ Johnny.”

“You’re the one who brought this up.” Johnny points out, “You know I think it’s a load of shit, besides if it really mattered don’t you think I’d know who it was?” 

“You know what? Whatever man. If you want to keep thinkin’ filling your bed with anything with a pulse that will suck your cock is good for you, you keep on it. S’what you’re good at, isn’t it?”

“Now you’re getting it.” His voice just sounds sad, the words having sharp bristles like he’s trying to cut Kerry in the way Kerry’s remarks cut into him. V hears nothing for a few moments, the silence from behind the door making V shift on his feet restlessly. He wasn’t sure if they were still talking just in a low enough register that V couldn’t pick up on it through the door or if the two were simply glowering at each other. 

Finally, he hears a noise once again as someone shuffles closer to the door. The brass handle of the knob begins to turn, “I’ll see you later.” The door swings open, and he’s met with Kerry, the man’s eyes widening for a brief moment as he stares at V before an uncomfortable smile settles over his face. “Oh, hey V, you uh been waiting long?”

“Nah, just got here.” V shakes his head at that. The conversation had quickly felt like something that he wasn’t privy to it. So he thought it best to leave it at that and not confess he had been listening to more than he should have. V doesn’t know if Kerry believes him or not, but he doesn’t dwell on it.

“Well don’t get into too much trouble,” The discomfort in his smile fades away into a more natural look as he moves around V and gives him a firm pat on the shoulder. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Later Kerr.” He lets himself in as Kerry begins to walk away, quickly making his exit down the stairs. 

The unit was much nicer than the exterior of the complex. It was a small bachelor suite. The bed was pushed off into the corner of the room, a heap of blankets resting on top, the walls lined with posters of various bands and a few holes that looked suspiciously fist shape. The floor was similar to V’s own place, appearing to be more clutter than the actual floor. There were empty bottles of liquor, shells, and a few weapons about on various surfaces of the unit. It smelt of stale cigarettes and whatever cologne Johnny wore. Despite the fact, their relationship was still fresh, and he didn’t really know the rockerboy, V felt confident in saying this place radiated Johnny. 

“Hey V.” Johnny lifts his head from where he was crouched down, picking up bits of amber glass that he assumed was what he heard shattering earlier. “You get a chance to look over what I sent you?”

“Yeah.” Clearly, Johnny had no interest in talking about whatever the fuck happened between Kerry and him. Not that V expected much else. He assumed that Johnny was similar to Rogue in that he preferred to keep his walls up and keep those around him at arm’s length. The merc doesn’t push it and moves to sit down on the cracked leather couch in the unit’s center, watching Johnny clean up the mess. “Have a bit of an idea of how we’re going to do it.”

“Right on.” Johnny bobs his head as he dumps the shards into a small metal trash can. He gets to his feet, brushing any tiny shards off on the front of his pants. He wanders off over to the small kitchenette across the unit, carefully tugging open the fridge’s flimsy door. “You want a beer?”

“Sure.” V nods his head, watching as Johnny pulled a pack of beer from the fridge. He walks over, setting the cans on a clear space of table before settling into the spot beside V.

“So what you got?” Johnny asks, pulling a can from the plastic ring and passing one to the merc before grabbing his own. He kicks his feet up onto the edge of the table, reclining against his corner of the couch—the worn leather protesting quietly under their combined weight. 

“What you sent me puts him alone only within Parkview on the 40th floor which means he’s not really alone, dipshit. You’re too high up on saka’s shit list and I’m not being paid enough to do it.” V says, cracking the can open the action accompanied with a soft hiss. He takes a sip, smirking from behind the chilled can when Johnny’s brows knit together, opening his mouth to protest, but V just cuts him off, continuing, “So unless you know a runner who’s good and you really have the eddies to burn, we’re not touching him on the plaza. S’okay, I got some other shit on your guy.”

Johnny just sits silently, staring at V expectantly. He almost looks like his pride has been wounded by V telling him his plan was shit. It was hard to know too much of his expression when he wore those mirrored glasses, but he doesn’t voice any thoughts on the matter, clearly okay with V taking the reins on the scheming. 

“Shin set up a meet at the docks. He’s meeting with the water rats. Guess he hired them to smuggle something in? Not really sure what. We get him there though, he’s gonna be backed but we should be able to do it if we’re smart about it.”

“You sure he’s not going to roll up with an army?” Johnny raises a brow as he drinks his own beer.

“He’s dealing with a gang, course not. Gangs aren’t exactly too keen when corpos roll up with enough to blast ’em clean off the map. Probably two guys at most?” V shrugs his shoulders a bit. “I’m not really worried about the rats either, they’re mostly harmless.” He pauses and thinks for a moment before a chuckle rumbles through his chest, “Just uh, make sure you’re wearin’ something bulletproof.” 

“Needs work but guess it’s a start.” 

“Hey, you’re the one who came to me with no plan at all.” V points out, but he took no real offense to it. Knew that the man was just trying to fluff his ego a bit. “This is the exact reason I don’t work with people one on one. I know what I’m doing and you don’t, so stick with being a rockerboy.”

“What? And I’m a special exception?” Johnny laughs softly. “I can carry myself just fine, thank you very much.”

“Don’t flatter yourself you gonk. I’m only doing this because I know if I don’t, you’re sucking Rogue in.” V says pointedly, he narrows his eyes as he looks at Johnny, “Slinging lead and being able to walk in with a thought out plan on how all you  _ and  _ your chooms are all walking away are two different things.”

“She knows she can say no.”

“You know that’s not fuckin’ true.”


	5. Chapter 5

It seemed that even V had a soft spot within himself for Johnny, a dangerous thing that he had been warned of time and time again. He wasn’t deluded; none of them were. They all knew the kind of man Silverhand was and still kept coming back for more. At that point, what they all got was very well deserving. The two got on together like gasoline on a fire. It was a dangerous mixture; Johnny’s wit and snark were met with the same level of vitriol coming from V. Something their mutual friends would question because anyone who got on with Johnny the way V did probably wasn’t right in the head. Rogue had joked that the years of substance abuse and taking one too many blows to the head were beginning to catch up with him.

At some point, the lines had begun to blur between their relationship’s transactional nature, slipping into something more akin to friendship. It’s how V had found himself back at The Slammer with Johnny. There wasn’t a show tonight at the bar, but that didn’t mean that loud music wasn’t playing overhead. It wasn’t the same as a live show, it lacked the same passion, but he could still feel the bass trembling within the glass of his drink, causing the amber liquid to ripple along the walls. He could hear muted gunshots over the music, shouting coming through for a second only to be swallowed up in the riffs of guitars. There was likely a gang dispute happening in the arena, or the upper east side just really wasn’t the place to be tonight.

If something was happening in the arena, he wonders who it was between. And how high the betting had gotten between the two gangs. V had always wanted to pay the fee to actually watch one happen from the safety of the glass walkway above the arena, but it was a high price, one that he wasn’t really willing to pay. So he settled for betting when he felt like it. Sometimes it paid off, and other times he was out a couple of thousand eddies. Tonight wasn’t a night where he felt like pushing his luck.

“Hey, I’m going to the bathroom,” V says casually, takes a sip of his drink. He looks at Johnny, who raises a brow, and he’s unsure if Johnny is questioning his choices or wondering why V bothered to announce it. “Want to join me?”

A few different looks flash over Johnny’s face ranging from questioning to the barest hints of excitement before he just settles on getting to his feet with a lazy smirk. “Lead the way.”

“Don’t get your hopes up, loverboy.” V snorts, rolling his eyes as he gets up. They weave through the crowded bar with ease, approaching the dimly lit bathroom. The walls were covered in chipping dirty tiles with graffiti covering the majority of the wall. Thankfully, no one was in there, and even if there was, he’s confident they wouldn’t pay any mind to what they were doing. 

He reaches into his leather jacket, fishing around for a small baggie that he had picked up earlier that day. It hadn’t been his intent to share with Johnny. Frankly, he hadn’t even intended to meet up, but when Johnny had called him asking to meet for a drink, he figured that it wouldn’t hurt to bring it along, knowing that at some point, the booze would have him itching for something a little more.

He retrieves the baggie and moves to show Johnny, dangling it within his view. “You think I was dragging you back here to blow you?”

“Might ‘ave been hopin’,” Johnny laughs, but he doesn’t look displeased while he watches V pour some of the contents out onto the bathroom countertop.

“You have a girlfriend.” V chuckles though he knows that having an output or input, for that matter, never stopped him. He reaches back into his pocket and pulls out an old cred chip that had outlived its use.

“Yeah, yeah.” Johnny’s tone borders on guilty as he waves off V’s statement. 

He couldn’t help but feel bad for Alt. Not that V was a saint, he had torn apart a few relationships himself, but it was never a good feeling. The sex was seldom worth watching a relationship turn into an uncontrolled car fire. 

They huddle around the countertop, V leaning over it as he carefully cuts the white powder into fine lines with the cred chip. From this angle, he can see how grimy the counter is, not that he expects anything less from a dive like this. But it makes his skin crawl nonetheless, finding himself more concerned with what residual things he’s about to snort over the actual drugs. He turns to look over his shoulder, locks his eyes with Johnny, and shoots him a smirk before turning back to admire his handy work.

V presses his index finger against the side of his nostril, blocking off airflow before he leans in and snorts one of the neatly piled lines off of the countertop in a clean motion. He feels it instantly, the burning that radiates from his nose to drip down his throat before settling into a soft numbness that would continue to spread as it worked through his system. He does another line without skipping a beat before standing upright, cleaning off his nose and turning to look at Johnny with a lopsided grin. “Your turn.”

V steps aside, watching how Johnny flips the sunglasses he wore to the top of his head. It keeps some hair from falling in his face as he does his lines with the same practiced ease that V has. 

When he comes up from it, he turns to look at V with his own smile, lifting his hand to wipe any remnants of the white powder from his face. It was the first time V had actually gotten a chance to see the man without those stupid glasses he always wore. He takes note of his eyes, his pupils are dilated, but V can still make out the brown rings surrounding them. V’s stomach churns as he locks eyes with Johnny, discomfort settling in his bones that he tries to pin on the drugs and liquor in his system. He’s never had this feeling before, but maybe he had bought some shit that was laced, and the night would take a sudden nosedive.

Either Johnny had picked up on V’s discomfort, or he was in a similar predicament, and the drugs he bought really were laced. He tries to shrug it off, an easy smile pulling at his lips as he flips his glasses down again. “Goin’ for a smoke.”

V nods his head and trails after Johnny to the outside of the club.

The air outside the club is sharp but refreshing more than anything else. It was better than the sticky humid air of the club. V watches Johnny pluck a cigarette from a crumpled packet, holding one out for V to take.

V shakes his head, “Not much of a smoker.” 

“You’ll rail lines of coke off a club bathroom counter but won’t have a smoke?” Johnny laughs loudly at that, fondness seeping into each word. V huffs and snatches the cigarette from between Johnny’s fingers, glaring at the man. “You’re a real piece of work, V.”

“Fuck off.” V snickers as he took the lighter from the man and lit the cigarette before passing it back to Johnny to light his own.

He takes a drag, lets the smoke settle in his lungs, and burn before exhaling. He knew that they could smoke inside the venue, especially if they had stayed within the bathroom but being outside was nice too. The polluted air of Night city was better than that inside the cramped venue. They smoke in silence, listening to the club’s muted noise and watching cars pass them by. This area of the city seemed to be quiet for the time being, perhaps due to everyone preoccupied with the gang war raging within the arena. It didn’t matter why the city was placid. It was nice to see the city’s ripples stilling into a calm. It was a sharp comparison to how fast his mind was racing as the synthcoke worked its way through his system. 

V finishes the cigarette, pinching off the embers of the cherry before tossing it off to the ground. He leans back against the wall, staring at Johnny with a lazy smile that he only got on his face when he wasn’t all there in the head. Johnny mirrored the smile, he looked at ease here under the neon glow of the world around him, and V couldn’t help but admire him. It hardly registered when Johnny leaned in and kissed him, his mind going too fast to stop and process what the fuck just happened. It was like his body was on autopilot, kissing back as he had done with others time and time again without thinking about  _ who  _ he was kissing.

It’s a bad decision, really, but V’s life consisted of a series of increasingly poor decisions. It kept life interesting, he told himself, never a dull moment, that’s for sure, but there were plenty of regrets that would nip at his heels. But he was young and dumb, no thoughts for the future kept in his mind. Only the present and right now, the present felt damn good. 

The crumbling concrete wall of The Slammer bites into V’s back, digging in uncomfortably. Johnny’s hands are just as rough on him, organic and metal having slipped under his tank top to bite into the delicate skin that stretched over his rib cage. Their lips work together in a way that screams their way too fucked up to be doing this. But it doesn’t really matter because he’s still making small noises into the older man’s mouth, lips parting eagerly to feel his tongue slip inside.

Johnny’s mouth tastes like cigarettes and tequila, and V can’t stop himself from plunging his tongue in to brush alongside Johnny’s chasing the taste of the man. It made his head swim as his hands wandered over Johnny’s shoulders. The older man presses himself closer till his hips press against V. He rocks against him in a way that makes V’s mouth water, any past reservations dissolving with the substances’ help. 

He leans down, pressing his lips to V’s ear so only he can hear the words, “Wanna go back to mine?” 

V feels the churning return again, but alongside it, something sweet was being mixed in that made the giddiness course through his limbs till his fingertips began to tremble. “Yeah.”

* * *

The minute the door of Johnny’s apartment closes with a heavy thud, V is upon him like a predator amping up to devour its prey. The world spins around them slowly, his head muddled with thoughts he couldn’t quite string together in any coherent sense. The only thing he could focus on was that he was desperate to taste the other upon his tongue again. Johnny was seemingly happy to oblige, meeting V’s kiss with the same intensity.

They hadn’t bothered to flick the lights on when they had entered the unit; the only light in the room was the soft glow from the city that filtered in through the ruined plastic shutters over the windows.

The guitarist’s calloused hands come to work their way inside of V’s leather jacket, stopping to graze at the skin of his shoulders that was exposed by the ratty tanktop V wore. He pushes the coat down the mercs arms and onto the floor impatiently. 

Not that V minded all that much, he could still feel the tail end of the drugs slugging through his system and the desperation the two displayed only served to turn him on further. He was just as eager to get Johnny out of his clothing as Johnny was him.

“You good with this?” Johnny asks, head dipping down to trail sloppy kisses along the curve of V’s neck. His fingers dance along the hem of the tank top, not moving any further till he’s given an affirmative. How considerate. If V was honest, he was a little surprised to hear Johnny even asking this, especially as V was clearly into it, but at the same time, it brought a wave of relief that even Johnny had some standards in this and wasn’t a total piece of shit.

“I’ll fuckin’ flatline you if you stop.” V murmurs, letting his head rest against the cool metal of the door. He hooks his fingers into the loops of the other’s leather pants, dragging him closer till he could feel the subtle swell of Johnny’s cock pressing against his hip. Johnny laughs in a quiet rumble against V’s skin, pulling back just enough to get a good look at him before he’s pressing more kisses along V’s neck. This time, he nips with enough force to leave pale reds to bloom at the surface.

A metal hand comes to tease at the waistband of V’s tight pants. A lump begins to form in his throat, cold sweat collecting at his hairline as there’s a sudden rush of coherency to his thoughts. They hadn’t had  _ that  _ talk yet, and sure, Johnny showed no qualms over getting V into his bed in a drug and alcohol induced haze but still, the ‘hey, I’m trans’ discussion hadn’t ever come up. It wasn’t something he felt the need to do up until they got to this very moment.

“They make your ass look great V, but fuck you need better pants.” Johnny grumbles as he pops the button with a practiced hand, his metal joints clicking softly at the action. As Johnny slides the hand below briefs, V waits with bated breath. He waits for the slew of disgust to come from the man’s lips, for Johnny to recoil and usher V out the door, but it doesn’t come. There is a brief stilling of Johnny’s metal fingers, but as quick as it came, the fingers are moving again, swiping through V’s slick folds.

V exhales sharply, letting out the breath of air he had been holding, hips involuntarily rocking up into the experimental touch. Johnny touches him again, this time more deliberately, the tips of cool metal fingers just barely dipping inside of him. He sinks further back against the door for support, eyes falling shut as his grip on the belt loops tighten.

“You’re already so wet and I’ve hardly touched you.” Johnny muses, the smirk on his lips audible even with V’s eyes closed. The merc huffs in response. He briefly considers shoving Johnny off to try and take some control of the situation, but then two metal fingers are abruptly sinking into him. 

A sharp exhale is punched out of him, the tail end of the breath dissolving into a moan. There was no music or booming bass to swallow up any of the noises made. It was eerily quiet in the apartment, and it made him acutely aware of the wet noises made when Johnny began thrusting his fingers into V. It makes his body vibrate with embarrassment.

“Drugs,” V sputters, “You,  _ fuck _ , you wish you could turn me on like this.” The words are dull; they’re merely a feeble attempt at retaining some sense of dignity that he wasn’t some wanton whore who had been waiting for the chance to sleep with the legendary Johnny Silverhand. 

Johnny hums in response, but it’s so cocky that V knows the man doesn’t buy it. And truthfully, V wasn’t sure if he even should. Because the way Johnny worked his fingers inside of V, the soft drag of smooth metal hitting him in all the right places, pressing just deep enough to make him yearn for more made V rethink the entire defense he put up. 

Johnny curls his fingers, deliberately rubbing the pad of his finger along the bundle of nerves within V till the man’s legs are shaking and his mouth is falling open, unable to stop the cry that tumbles past. “Gunna be begging for my cock in no time.”

V whines at that; the venomous words he might have spit out are too fragmented in his mind. He was too focused on the feeling of Johnny’s fingers, the pleasure that wracked his body only heightened by the drugs almost to the point of already being overly sensitive. The feeling of Johnny’s thumb brushing along V’s clit makes colors erupt behind his eyelids, and a word finally finds its way onto V’s tongue “ _ Please _ .”

“I told you so.” Johnny says it in that egotistical way that makes V want to give in immediately while also wanting to smack the tone clean out of his voice simultaneously. He draws his fingers out slowly, and V opens his eyes in time to watch as Johnny brings them to his lips and licks them clean. His tongue working carefully, sliding along the metal digits as he cleans V’s slick off the metal. 

“Fuck you.” V breathes, shifting against the door. He can’t bring himself to look away from the indecent display Johnny puts on. 

“Next time.” The man smirks, seemingly satisfied with the state of his hand. He reaches down, grabbing the hem of V’s shirt, and tugs it up and off, tossing it off to the side.

They strip in a hurry, clothes being tossed to the floor as they stumbled towards the bed in the corner. It would be quite the issue when V tried to slip out afterward, Johnny’s floor was already a mess as it was, and there was a high possibility that he’d end up leaving the unit in something of Johnny’s. 

V feels the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed when Johnny shoves his bare shoulders lightly. He doesn’t fight it and lets himself topple back, bouncing once upon impact before his body begins to settle into the foam of the mattress. Johnny is upon him in the blink of an eye, taking occupancy on the other man’s thighs and towering over him. 

The merc rests his hands on Johnny’s thighs, fingers splayed along the fabric of his briefs. He watches Johnny take his glasses off, leaning over to set them down gingerly on the bedside table. When he twists back, he gets a good look at the man. Takes in the way long hair is disheveled already, a soft blush over his cheeks and his eyes devoid of any purity. He looks like sin, and it makes V’s jaw clench, his teeth gnashing together.

Their lips meet again, not any softer than the times before. It still has as much intensity in it, Johnny’s teeth knocking against the metal in V’s lip. Hands rove over each other’s bodies, mapping out the foreign expanses and committing details to minds that won’t retain anything. This was just a substance-induced hookup and nothing more. 

This whole experience left a mixture of unwanted emotions to coil within himself, softness seeping into his bones each time Johnny let out a soft sigh that felt too intimate for what this was. It felt like he had stuck a fork in a wall socket, and an electrical current was arcing through his system, waiting for the right moment to strike him dead. 

He feels Johnny’s tongue press into his mouth, gliding against his own and eliciting a soft noise. V can still taste the remnants of smoke and liquor on his tongue, along with the sharp taste of his own arousal from before. It makes his mind wander, wander to places it shouldn’t go like how often Johnny has the taste of Alt on his tongue. He pushed thoughts of her out of his mind till this moment, forgetting entirely that he was getting caught up in a fucking affair. 

He tries to remind himself that he wasn’t special. That V wasn’t the first person to fall into Johnny’s bed from this, and he certainly wouldn’t be the last. But as the drugs had begun to filter out of his system, guilt began to take its place.

V sinks his teeth into Johnny’s lower lip, drawing a sharp breath from him. He needs to focus on something else, to ground himself in the carnal act that he had gotten himself into and not about how he was a homewrecker or that this felt like something more than just a hookup. It never mattered to him before, so why was this any different?

Johnny pulls back, chest heaving as he drags in the air that had been lost to him while they kissed. “Get on your hands and knees.” Johnny’s voice is low, strained with pleasure as he stares at V with those wild eyes that make the merc’s stomach twist in a million little knots. He moves off to the side to let V get into position. 

He watches as Johnny strips himself of his briefs, his cock bobbing against his stomach. For a moment, he’s grounded at this moment here, mouth growing dry as he drinks in the sight of Johnny. 

The man seems to notice and smirks, preening over the attentive gaze V has on him. Deciding to not fluff his ego more, or maybe this would only inflate it further, V strips off his own briefs. He isn’t graceful as he scrambles to get into the position Johnny had told him to get into. His movements are rushed and careless as he gets to his knees closer to the center of the bed. He rested his weight on his forearms and knees. 

V feels entirely too exposed like this, heat burning his face as he presents himself as some kind of gift for Johnny to tear into. It was shameless; there was nothing to take the edge off the feelings of embarrassment either aside from the lust that wracked his mind. What would their friends think of him for this? Over willingly submitting to a client in such an intimate way, being just another person Johnny cheated on Alt with and the whorish display he was putting himself on.

He cranes his neck to look over his shoulder at Johnny, watches the way the man slowly jerks his cock in easy fluid motions, hips moving to meet his fists. V can’t help but whine at that, his own hips wiggling a bit as if to entice the man. He needed to move on, to feel Johnny’s cock splitting him open and fucking him to the point of incoherency before he was consumed with guilt. He catches the gleam of Johnny’s teeth when his lips spread into a wolfish grin, seemingly fine with their arrangement. 

“Stop putting on a fuckin’ show and get to it.” V’s tone is warning though undoubtedly tainted with desire. Johnny picks up on that and laughs softly, both at V’s impatience and enjoyment for what Johnny was doing. He doesn’t make the man wait much longer, moving so that he is positioned behind V. He drags the head of his cock through V’s folds, the blunt of his head pressing in just enough to make V’s eyes flutter and his head droop to the pillow once more.

He’s given no warning when Johnny pushes in with a sharp thrust, facing no resistance with how wet the other is. The air is punched from V in a piercing cry at the sudden feeling of being filled so fully. The grip he has on the sheets below tightens his knuckles, whitening. He couldn’t help but whine and rock his hips back eagerly the moment the man was fully sheathed. Desperate for more when it had only just begun. 

It was certainly a good distraction from his transgressions.

“This what you want V?” Johnny breaths, there’s something in his tone, but V doesn’t have time to speculate on what it could be. Johnny leaves no room for either of them to adjust as he drags himself out to the tip before burying himself within V again with a quick movement of his hips. He digs his nails into V’s sides, the metal digging cutting into the soft skin almost uncomfortably. 

“Yes.” V lets out, the sound coming out choked at it catches in his throat. He can hear the soft laughter that rumbles through Johnny’s chest, the breathiness to the tone making his laughter far more salacious than humorous. It made V feel better that Johnny was at least close to as tightly wound as V was. 

Johnny fit him perfectly, big enough that V felt impossibly full but not enough to make it hurt. He can’t help how his cunt clenches around Johnny each time he bottomed out as if his body was working at willing the man to never leave this position. But then he’s moving again, hips meeting V’s ass, again and again, the sounds of sweat slicked skin echoing through the room. Each time making a sharp cry tumbles past his lips as his thighs quaked.

“Fuck V, you take my cock so well.” Johnny murmurs, leaning down to plant wet kisses along V’s shoulder blades. He feels the ends of Johnny’s soft brown locks tickling his back, making goose flesh spread over the skin.

“Feels so good,” V mumbles in response, nuzzling into the soft pillow below. He couldn’t think straight, mindlessly lost to the assault Johnny was wracking his body with. “ _ Fuck Johnny. _ ”

A wail falls from his lips as Johnny’s teeth sink into the curve of his neck. Pain prickling along the area and spreading to radiate across the skin. He wasn’t sure, but he’s half certain that Johnny bit him hard enough to break the skin. At the very least, he would undoubtedly have teeth shaped marks left. 

Johnny pulls out suddenly and is met with an immediate whine of protest from V. He shoots a look over his shoulder at Johnny, ready to question the man or even beg at this point. They couldn’t stop now, not when he had finally started to forget about any of the complications that would come to a head from this act. 

“On your back. Want to see your face while I ruin you.” His words are gruff and breathy, cutting through the thick fog of V’s mind. That churning feeling is back, and he feels like he’s stuck another fork into the socket.

Still, he does as he’s told. He’s drunk on feeling Johnny’s cock, unable to think much beyond the need to be filled again and again by the man, even if he doesn’t like the idea of having to look at Johnny while they fuck.

Johnny slips between V’s spread thighs, metal and ‘ganic hands gripping V’s thighs and holding them spread as he quickly pressed back in. There’s desperation to their movements, neither of them stopping to savor it, just greedily drinking in everything and still coming back for more. 

“S-shit.” It feels like Johnny is deeper at the angle, the head of his cock pressing against that bundle of nerves within V more deliberately than before. He can’t stop himself from canting his hips, trying to match Johnny’s brutal pace and meet each snap of his hips. It makes the corners of V’s vision blur, mouth gaping like a fish out of water. 

“There we go.” Johnny muses. He moves his metal hand from V’s thigh, bringing it up to encircle V’s wrists, pinning them above his head with bruising force. He’s confident that come morning time, there would be no running from this night. Johnny had left his marks along V’s skin as a semi permanent reminder. “You look so pretty with my cock splitting you open.”

V lets his eyes fall shut, lips parting with an undignified noise. The words aren’t welcome despite how his body reacts. They make him feel dirty; still, his body craves more, not wishing to stop despite how his mind is reeling. The organic hand leaves his thigh as well, and V takes it upon himself to hook his freed legs around Johnny’s hips lest he tries and pulls out again. But Johnny doesn’t try to. Instead, the hand slides between them, coming to jerk V off at a pace that hardly matched the harsh thrusts that sent the bed rocking.

He doesn’t think he’s ever been fucked like this before, never been with someone who set his nerves blazing in such a fashion. And there wasn’t any way that V could attribute this to the drugs or liquor, both having fizzled out and leaving only the remnants of haziness to cloud his vision. Johnny was just that good, and he suddenly understood how he got away with the shit he did. Each thrust made his mind fizzle, and short circuit like he had his plug yanked out while running the net. 

The beginnings of his release were starting to wash over him, like the warm waves of the tide. Slowly dragging him in, begging to lave over his body and drown him. He knew it was mutual, too, that Johnny wasn’t going to last much longer. Not with the way his hips had begun to move jerkily, and his own pleasure drenched noises joined in the cacophony of arousal.

It hits him all at once, the sudden influx of pleasure making V’s muscles grow tense as his thighs locked around Johnny’s hips. He catches a glimpse of Johnny with glassy eyes, a look of pure adoration painting his face as he watches the merc convulse under him.

“Where?” Johnny’s voice is desperate now, the sound a broken warning as his hips slow down to stave off his release. He had nearly spilled inside of V at the feeling of his cunt fluttering around his cock, and if V didn’t answer immediately, he likely wouldn’t have a say in the matter.

“Not in me,” V whimpers, head tipping back as his hips rock mindlessly against Johnny riding out the aftershocks. The man obliges and pulls out immediately before they go past the point of no return. The action has them both whining at the loss of contact, but then V gives him a look that wipes any disappointment clean off his face. “In my mouth.”

Johnny’s jaw goes slack at that, a sudden excitement rushing through him as he quickly shuffles up V’s body, pressing his cock to the man’s chapped lips.

V makes a point to lift his dazed hazel gaze to look up at Johnny as his lips part. He flicks his tongue out, dragging it slowly along the underside of the man’s cock. He can taste himself on Johnny again, but his mind is too muddled to think of much else but getting Johnny off. 

Johnny’s hand comes to rest against the wall when V finally takes him into his mouth, his head tipping back as he lets the sensation of V’s warm wet mouth engulf him. 

V’s head lifted awkwardly till his nose was pressed into the wiry hair against Johnny’s pubic bone. He sucks hard, cheeks hollowing as he works Johnny over the edge. All he focuses on is Johnny, from the way his thighs have begun to shake to how his hips fight not to thrust into V’s mouth and the moans of his name that tumble out like a prayer. The man doesn’t last long before he’s not even bothering to still his hips, rocking against V’s face and spilling down his throat.

They remain like that for a moment, Johnny catching his breath and V making sure he isn’t missing a drop of Johnny. V’s hands come up, gently shoving at Johnny’s thighs to push him away.

Johnny comes to settle into the bed beside V though he appears to be wary about touching the other man, resting a few inches away from the merc. He honestly doesn’t know what to think of that. Did Johnny regret this? Was he a bad fuck? There were a million thoughts that slugged through his mind, only slowed by his recent orgasm that still softened his mind. 

“It’s late, you can stay the night if you want.” Johnny speaks softly, tentatively as he suggests it. Almost as if he’s afraid of the answer that V might give him. And V isn’t sure which answer was the one that would cause the fear to bloom. Perhaps it was both.

V thinks for a moment on it. He really wasn’t in any condition to get home. The muscles in his legs ached, and his mind was still foggy. He stares up at the stucco ceiling, mind-forming images in the patterns to focus on something else before he responds with the same softness. “Thanks.” 


	6. Chapter 6

A warm glow filters through the room through the broken shutter shades, basking the unit in soft yellows and golds. The light gradually brings V’s forth into the land of the living, though he can’t say that he feels all that alive. There’s a dull throbbing in his head and a deep ache settling through his bones, though thankfully, his hangover has spared him from nausea. He blinks once, staring at a wall that doesn’t look familiar with bleary eyes when he feels the warmth of another body pressed against his back and the weight of an arm wrapped around his midsection.

The events of the night before come flooding back in small fragments. He can still vividly taste Johnny on his tongue and the way rough hands skirted over his body as if he knew precisely how V ticked. It makes him feel worse, and while his hangover didn’t appear to leave him with any nausea, thinking about what he had done certainly did. He didn’t even really know why. What he had done wasn’t exactly outside of his realm. Promiscuity was far from being out of V’s wheelhouse. 

Perhaps it was due to Johnny’s having his foot in the door of stardom that left V feeling dirty. It made him feel like just another groupie for Johnny to play with, only to be cast aside when he got off. But it was just a one night stand. It wasn’t V’s place to come asking for more, and he wasn’t even sure if he did want more. Besides, V tried to remind himself that Johnny was already tied down no matter how flimsy a hold Alt had on him.

V shifts cautiously, wiggling himself free from the arm laid over him like a lead beam. He moves like he’s walking on eggshells, trying desperately not to wake the man so he can slip out without having to deal with the aftermath. However, he’s not so lucky in keeping the man asleep as the movement makes Johnny’s tired eyes lazily open to stare at V.

His gaze is soft, the browns of his eyes shining brightly in the glow of the sunshine. V doesn’t recall ever seeing such a tranquil look on Johnny’s face. It was as if there was nothing to worry about, and the world around them wasn’t festering, having just exited the second conflict only to be caught in the middle of a mob war. But then, the conflict and turmoil of war were all they knew, and it wasn’t hard to turn a blind eye to find a few moments of peace following wakefulness.

It pulls at V’s chest, and a part of him wants to sink back into the bed and press himself close enough to feel the man’s warmth once more. To pepper soft kisses along his exposed torso and feel those hands roaming his skin. Instead, he sits up, letting the blanket fall around his waist. 

“Can I ask you something?” V asks, climbing over Johnny as best he can to get out of the bed. The floor is cool under his feet, a sharp contrast to the warmth the bed and Johnny provided, but he pushes through. Doesn’t let himself dwell on thoughts of getting back in bed. He needs to find his clothing that was dispersed through the apartment. It was like some fucked up post hookup scavenger hunt. He doesn’t stop to look at Johnny as he waits for a response, just lets his eyes bounce around the floor in search of his clothing.

“Sure.” Johnny sounds tired as he speaks, sleep still thick in his words. V wonders what time it even was. For all he knew, it could’ve been just past daybreak which was entirely too early to be awake for.

“I uh, heard you talking the other day with Kerry,” V’s eyes flicker up to look at Johnny, who is now resting with an arm behind his head, his eyes trained on V as he putters around the apartment. The man’s brows draw together, lips pressed thin, but V presses on, not heeding the warning “About your eyes.”

“You look at your own recently?” Johnny speaks slowly, holding the words in his mouth carefully. V isn’t sure if this is just the man deflecting or what, but the words weigh on V agonizingly. He grabs his briefs and slides them on, straightening his posture to look at Johnny. 

The air around them is thick like molasses; it’s suffocating.

“No.” He clenches his jaw, teeth gnashing together again. He can’t stare long. He feels something ugly tearing up his insides with sharp claws that sear his insides each time he dares to stare longer than he should. Hazel eyes dart away to focus on anything else, bouncing to and from fabric and empty bottles on the floor to find his clothing. 

“You should,” Johnny says and tips his head in the direction of the bathroom. There is more to it than Johnny lets on, not willing to admit it himself yet. V is thankful for that because he can already feel the bile begin to rise in his throat at the mere implication of Johnny’s words. 

V doesn’t say anything, letting an uncomfortable silence bloom within the already oppressive atmosphere. He makes haste in finding the rest of his clothing, eager to leave. A part of him wishes that the two weren’t bound together by a gig and that he could just forget this and leave whatever this was within the confines of the small unit. But then, even that thought didn’t sit easily with him. It wasn’t as if V couldn’t pass along the intel to Rogue and leave her with this mess; he’s confident that she would understand. Hell, if he chipped in the eddies, he’s sure he could sweet talk Santiago into it, but then he’d probably have to manipulate the man using Rogue as ammo for his words. 

Neither of those options felt right. Not because V would’ve been dumping work onto others, but there was something within himself that held him firmly in place, refusing to budge from this gig. The idea of passing it off to someone else and promptly exiting Johnny’s life left a bitter taste in his mouth. 

“Right.” V mumbles as he tugs on the rest of his clothing. He takes a seat on the corner of the bed as he laces up his boots. He only spares the rockerboy a look when he had cinched both boots tightly. “Alright, well I’ll see you in a couple of days okay? I’ve got some gigs lined up before we flatline that gonk.”

“Sure thing,” Johnny says flatly, eyes fluttering closed, either having decided that it was time to get some more sleep or that he was done with this conversation. V couldn’t tell which, but he didn’t stop to figure it out. Getting to his feet, he quickly leaves the unit shutting the heavy door behind him with a soft thud.

He begins to walk away towards the stairwell that would lead him out of the apartment complex when he stops catching his appearance on a reflective surface. He thinks it once could have passed for a mirror at one point, but its surface is dimpled, streaked with fingerprints, and the thick coats of spray paint that extend to the paint chipped and water stained walls. Still, there’s enough space between the markings to catch a glimpse of himself, no matter how distorted.

Two hazel eyes stare back at him, the whites around them haloed with the reds of burst capillaries. He isn’t entirely sure how he hadn’t noticed them before. It had been a while since he’d been properly home. And each time he did stumble home, he was usually worse for wear and blitzed out of his mind. No one had said anything to him either, perhaps just as afraid of the implications as Johnny and V were. 

It was like walking through a field that was littered with land mines, and no one was willing to trapeze their way through that territory lest they get caught within an explosion.

V lets out a sharp breath and pulls out the smartphone from his coat pocket; he dials the number of his fixer with practiced fingers and puts the phone to his ear. At this point, he would happily take any available gig, even if it wasn’t his usual work. He needed something to free his mind that wasn’t drugs. He knew better than to go down that path while already in an emotionally heightened state despite his body roaring for him to do so. The adrenaline from working would hopefully be enough to satiate that. “Hey Rick, you got any gigs today?” 


End file.
